LIfe With a Consulting Detective
by Inulover37
Summary: (Sherlock x reader) A new murderer has sprung up, killing seven different people, and Lestrade calls upon two minds instead of one. Will two minds be better than one? Considering the fact that the second mind acts like Sherlock!
1. Seventh

Ohayo minna~! I hope this fic does well on here! Please don't hate on it okay? I worked hard and I really want this to be one of my best. (I posted it on my Deviantart as well just in case this gets deleted)

Another dreary day in London. How it always was, and, per usual, there has been a murder on the loose. The police had yet to catch this criminal, even after 5 months and six more murders, the most recent one only being committed the night before this one. So they called upon two of the greatest minds they could find within the country of England. The esteemed consulting detective Sherlock Holmes; and (Y/N), the genius newbie. (F/N) arrived at the scene in a normal cab, paying with normal money, while dressed in normal clothes. But she was far from normal. The complete opposite in fact. Everyone, even Sherlock, was in for a surprise this evening. (F/N) took confident steps up to the front-door of the normal looking building. She turned the gold-plated doorknob and stepped inside. Flat number B437was her targeted location for this case. The landlady greeted her with a happy smile; although (F/N) could see the terror in the old woman's eyes. She told (F/N) where the flat was, and led her up to the door, where they parted ways. The old woman left rather quickly with a skip in her step; wanting to get away from the horror behind the door. (F/N) took a deep breath, and sighed, then turned yet another gold-plated doorknob, and walked into the flat.

It was a homey flat. Complete with floral wallpaper on the walls, and many different ceramic figurines scattered about the place. Very clean; whomever lived here surely took good care of the place. Not a speck of dust in sight, and surely not the best place to carry out a murder. There were three other people other than (F/N) in the room, all males, which all turned to look silently as she closed the door with soft click. One of the men, the older one, presumably in his late forties or so, with a few grey hairs spread about. He had a serious look on his face as he greeted (F/N) "I'm glad you're here Miss (L/N). Unfortunately this case calls for two minds instead of one." He had said. "I'm Lestrade. These two here are Dr. John Watson," He gestured to the shorter of the two others, who had nodded in acknowledgment. "And Mr. Sherlock Holmes." The taller one's head snapped from where he was observing the body at the mention of his name.

He glared at (F/N) with his grey eyes. She could practically see the thoughts running through his mind as he stepped away from the body. (Which (F/N) noticed that was incomprehensible to tell who exactly it was. She would get a better look eventually.) He came up to her, observing her like he did with the victim. He was thinking out loud as his gaze traveled. "Good shape; fit for anything that comes her way. From the way she holds herself it could possibly be judo or some other type of martial arts. Obviously not accustomed to an office life. Needs a job where she can move about. Cinnamon smell; takes care of herself very well. No family troubles recently. Not a drinker, smoker, or addict of any kind, and from the way you are observing my every move leads me to believe that you are a detective that specializes in murder case trials. Although you are new to the occupation, you have potential." He stood in front of (F/N) and smirked. "Did I get that right?"

She raised her eyebrows, and also smirked. "Yes, but you missed one very important detail."

"And what's that?"

"I'm your biggest rival."

Sherlock was at a loss for words for once. No one had ever said that to him, and if anybody had, he wouldn't have expected it to come from a girl like (F/N) He stared at her for a long moment, but eventually went back to observing the body. The man named John Watson came up to (F/N) and held out his hand. She took it, and shook slowly. "Sorry about him. He's always like that." He apologized.

"It's quite alright Dr. Watson. I would've expected nothing less." (F/N) answered quietly.

"Just John is fine." He said, giving (F/N) a small but hopeful smile.

(F/N) smiled softly back at him, then turned her attention to Sherlock and the body. It was charred all the way through; impossible to identify the victim without the use of DNA testing. Only a few small details helped. The plain metal plate bracelet on the victims right wrist; the singed keys in the fragile coat pocket; and a designer pen from EMIS. (F/N) kneeled down next to it, and pulled out a pair of rubber gloves, put them on, and carefully pulled the bracelet off. With her thumb, she rubbed off some of the charcoal that had formed from the metal. Something was engraved, but still illegible. When nobody was looking, she stuffed the bracelet in her coat pocket, then busied herself with observing the remains. "That's odd…" She mumbled out loud.

"What is it?" Lestrade asked hopefully.

(F/N) stood up with altering her gaze. "There's absolutely no burn marks on the floor. Someone brought the body inside after they killed him or her. The killer left that obvious clue. Like they want to get caught." She told him.

Sherlock rose to his feet as well, and joined the circle. "Although, since the body is extremely fragile from being burnt to a crisp, the killer couldn't have moved it far. It had to be moved from somewhere in this building."

"Sherlock, are you saying that someone is this building is the killer?" John blurted out, looking up from his notes.

(F/N) spoke up. "The killer is most defiantly not living in or near this building. They wouldn't want to live this close to the crime scene. My theory is that the killer broke in, somehow burnt this person to a crisp like a scone gone wrong, moved them here, and escaped out the window." She finished, gesturing to the nearby closed window.

"Why the window?" John asked, raising an eyebrow.

(F/N) stepped up to the window. "See for yourself." She said, opening the shutters and pointing outside.

Both John and Lestrade poked their heads out and looked everywhere and couldn't find the escape route that (F/N) mentioned. The pulled back inside, even more confused than before. "What exactly are we looking for?" Lestrade questioned.

"The pipe." Sherlock pointed out. "The rain gutter drain pipe beside the window. The killer must've shimmied down it. Leaving the door locked to make it look like a suicide." Sherlock sighed as he brushed off his coat. "Lestrade, I'm going to need al of the information you have about this murder sent to my flat pronto. I'm going to go back there and look things over with the other 6 cases. I'll meet you back home John. Oh, and miss (L/N)?" He said quickly, glancing up at her through his curls.

"Yes?" She asked warily.

"Why don't you come over for some tea. I like to know who I'm working with. John will show you the way."

And with that said, Sherlock was gone. Only footsteps down the hall let people know that he was leaving. Lestrade sighed heavily, and cracked his neck. "I'd better get to work on that file then. See yourselves out." He said, also leaving.

Only John and (F/N) remained. John scribbled down some last-minute notes while she gave one last look at the body to see if she had missed anything important. The snap of a book closing brought her back to reality, and she looked at John. "Come along Miss (L/N). Might as well go now. Sherlock won't let us hear the end of it if we dally. I'll get us a taxi, meet me downstairs in a minute or two."

Now (F/N) was the last one at the crime scene. She glanced around at the flat once more, and before she could leave, the floorboards caught her eye. She kneeled down to get a closer look and noticed that there was a very faint ash trail leading from the bathroom to the body. A honk from outside broke her out of her trance once more, and she ran down to the taxi without a second thought.

So did everyone like it? Please let me know what you thought!


	2. Visiting

I'M BACK. Since this story is still on the site after a while, I decided to update it. (Just so you know, on my deviant art there's 3 chapters posted instead of two. So you might want to read it there.)

As always, I hope you enjoy this!

She climbed in behind the driver, while John sat beside her. "221B Baker St please." He told the cabbie.

The car started on its journey, while John started a conversation. "So Miss (L/N), what do you think about this situation so far?" He asked solemnly.

(F/N) shrugged. "Honestly, I'm not sure what to think. I've never come across anything like this." She answered.

"With the cases that Sherlock takes on this kind of stuff is normal." John pointed out. "But there's definitely never a dull moment."

"I suppose you've been used to excitement all your life then. Usually the ones that don't have excitement won't even bother talking to Sherlock."

"What excitement? This whole mess started when I met him."

"You've been around danger before you met him though."

John paused for a moment, raising his eyebrows with curiosity. "And how do you suppose that?"

(F/N) smiled. "I don't suppose; I know. Just look at your hands. It's as plain as day. You were a soldier in a war, as well as a war doctor. Not that hard to figure out."

John closed his eyes and chuckled. (F/N) wondered if what she had said was completely wrong. She tilted her head to the side in confusion. As his laughter calmed down, he looked back up at her. "Oh, that's rich." He said quietly.

"What's rich?" She interrogated.

"That's what Sherlock first said to me when we first met."

(F/N) rolled her eyes, and moved her gaze to stare out the window. "I'm not surprised."

The doctor sighed. "So, then," he began. "are you like him?"

"Like who?"

"Sherlock. A 'high-functioning sociopath' as he puts it."

(F/N) shrugged. "That's the one thing I've never been exactly sure of. My observing skills are better that a normal person's, I know that much, yet I don't have as many quirks; if you can call them that; as Sherlock does." She confessed. "And before you ask, I'm not another consulting detective."

John laughed once more. "Yet the more you talk, the more you remind me of him."

(F/N) couldn't say anything else, being cut off by the cabbie stopping the car and announcing that they had arrived. John and (F/N) both climbed out of the car; the army doctor paying the man, and the car driving off. (F/N) stared up at the building; noticing it looked too normal for a person like Sherlock, but then again, John also lived there. He led the way up to the door and held it open. "Ladies first." He said.

(F/N) stepped through the doorframe, but stopped to wait for John, who followed soon after. He led the way up the staircase and through the flats front door. The first thing that caught (F/N)'s eye was the skull sitting on the mantle above the fireplace. "_Curious" _She thought, but paid it no mind. Looking around a bit more, she noticed some boxes cluttered in the corner of the flat. All in all, it was a very quaint place. "John!" Came Sherlock's voice from somewhere else in the flat. "I need a favor!"

John sighed heavily and answered. "What now?" He asked as he followed the voice.

This left (F/N) standing alone in an unknown flat with two men she barely even knew. She went over to the skull and lightly brushed her fingers over the top. "That's a friend." Sherlock's voice came from directly behind her.

(F/N) jumped slightly and slowly turned around to face him. "What?" She interrogated; her nerves beginning to crack.

"A friend. Well…I say friend…" He mumbled, and took a few steps back.

(F/N) finally got a good look at her co-worker. Possibly thirties, tall and lanky, although fit. Dark wavy mop of hair accentuating his grey eyes. He wore basic suit pants and polished shoes, complete with a collared dark purple button up shirt. (F/N) wasn't amused. "What am I doing here?" She asked flatly.

"For tea, of course. Plus, I need you for something. John, another favor, can you get miss (L/N) here a cup of tea. I need to fetch something."

She could hear John coming in from the other room. He looked at (F/N). "I guess you can make yourself at home. Do you like Earl Grey?"

(F/N) sat on the nearest chair, and crossed her legs. "Just a small one would be nice, thank you. Is he always like that?"

"Yes, although this is one of his slow days."

She looked down and fiddled with her fingers, John came back into the room with a cup of warm tea in his hands, and carefully handed it to (F/N). A few moments later Sherlock returned to the room with a thick suitcase, which he placed on the table and opened it up. He removed what looked like to be a microscope. Setting it up, he held his free hand out to (F/N). She looked him up and down with a completely confused facial expression. "What?" She asked again.

"The bracelet."

(F/N) breath caught in her throat. How could he possibly have known that she had taken the bracelet? Oh yeah, because he's Sherlock Holmes. There was no way that she could possibly try to outsmart him now that he knew. (F/N) stared at Sherlock and his hand. He glanced up at her eyes. He spread his fingers wide and put extra emphasis on his hand. She sighed and stuck her hand in her pocket, only to draw it out not a second later, revealing the small metal plate bracelet. Sherlock snatched it out of her hand and swiftly put it under the microscope. "How'd you figure that I took it?" (F/N) asked anyways, already knowing the answer.

"Pfft." He scoffed. "Did you really believe that I wouldn't notice? For a woman of your; can I say stature; you're awfully unobservant Miss (L/N)."

"Can you all stop with the 'Miss (L/N)' already? It's getting annoying. If you really need to call me something, call me (F/N)."

"Ah so that's your first name. I wondered. Lovely, now I don't need to spend as much time talking."

(F/N) groaned. "Prick." She said under her breath.

"Please do be quiet (F/N) you're disturbing the peace. I'm trying to figure this out."

She stood up and walked over to Sherlock, towering over his sitting form. "Maybe if you would let me have a look like I would have done back at my flat, it would have been cleared up by now." (F/N) told him arrogantly.

"How would you go about this then?" He asked, leaning back in his chair.

(F/N) snatched the bracelet out from the machine, and went over to the sink. A few drops of soap later and the turn of the faucet knob, she had the bracelet swimming in soapy water. At seeing this, Sherlock freaked. He stood a little too quickly and knocked over the chair. "Before you say anything," (F/N) stopped him. "you might want to consider the fact that you need to clean it of any debris first." She informed him.

(F/N) then took out the bracelet and wiped it clean with a nearby napkin. She brought it back over to the seat where she was previously sitting, and held the bracelet in the lamplight. "By any chance do either of you have any shaving cream? Or something like it?" (F/N) questioned out loud, not yet averting her gaze. "Or maybe a paper and pencil would be easier to find. Either is fine."

John stepped over and handed her a scrap of paper and a freshly sharpened pencil. "Thank you John." She said, then laid the paper on top of the metal, and proceeded to rub the pencil to-and-fro across the paper. Letters began to appear where the pencil skipped over the shallow grooves. Once (F/N) was done, she looked the paper over. It was still hard to read, but this version was able to be read by the naked eye. "'Carter…Holland.' And there's a heart after the name. I believe we have the name of the victims spouse." She announced with a smirk on her face.

Sherlock was dumbstruck, but impressed nonetheless. Casting that thought out of his mind; he continued to think about the case. "John, I'm going to city hall. I need to find the wife of Carter Holland. I'll be back soon." He announced, grabbing his coat and scarf, then went on his way.

(F/N) sighed, and switched out the bracelet in her hand for her cup of tea, and took a sip. "Does he always do that?" She questioned John.

He nodded in response. "All the time."

Please review! It gives me a lot of support to keep going!


	3. Evidence

Silence filled a room once more. (F/N) was getting ancy, she needed to be doing something. Her knee began to bounce uncontrollably as she waited. John noticed her discomfort. "Do you want to look at the other cases?"

"Yes please." (F/N) answered immediately with relief.

John flipped through some papers on the coffee table in front of him, and handed six files off to (F/N). "There you are. They should be in order with the first murder on top, the next underneath, and so on. The file for the most recent one should arrive in the next hour or so." John informed her.

She nodded in understanding, then opened up the top file, and began reading. The first murder was a basic gunshot wound to head. A simple bullet to the temple with a 45 caliber pistol. Pamela Carr was 31 years old and had been married for 3 years. She was a healthy young woman; no children, free from any longstanding illnesses, and had a stable job in the banking business. No killer was named, and (F/N) doubted that any of the murder cases would. There wasn't any real reason that she should have been killed. (F/N) let that thought settle as she grabbed the next file.

This one was for a Nora McCarthy. Aged at 33, recently remarried after her divorce 3 years ago. Again, no serious problems with any aspects of her life. She was killed by a heavy dose of arsenic. This was very different than the first murder, and nobody would expect that these murders are connected. But (F/N) and Sherlock thought different. Although this one seemed more plausible, with the ex-husband murdering the woman out of jealousy; that she had found another lover. But that was just jumping to conclusions.

The next file belonged to an Annette Hansen; 30 years old, a small case of asthma, happily married for 3 years, and killed by a snapped neck. Nothing very serious, a basic murder. But again, no killer name, or evidence left to give any clue as to who it was.

File number 4 was Tammi Rendon. 28 years old and newly married, only been in a relationship for 7 months. She had been killed by electrocution; no blood, guts, or gore of any kind. The bodies functions just shut down after going through that kind of sudden jolt. Which is exactly what happened to Tammi.

The fifth file was a woman that had been 29 years old and married for one year. Her name was Eva Morris. She was stabbed in the throat by a long icicle. The killer was efficient with this murder. By using that sharp shard of ice, it had melted by the time that the police had arrived, effectively getting rid of the weapon and not having to do anything to do it. By this point, if the killer was the same person, he or she seemed to be experimenting with ways to kill someone. Some obviously being more humane than others.

This point was upheld by the last file. Number 6 containing the information of May Hughes. 34 years old and having been married for seven years without a hitch. Death by basic strangling. The victim was choked by a fishing line around the throat, and then hoisted up by the neck.

It seemed to (F/N) like the murderer was experimenting, if all of the killings were done by the same man or woman. To anyone else it would seem like that was the truth, but there was one small detail that normal people out there overlooked: that the victims were all younger woman, and they were all married. None of the marriages were in danger of divorce however. (F/N) spread all of the files open before her, and closed her eyes. John had noticed by now that she was thinking like Sherlock would. He decided to speak up. "How do you suppose you're going to figure this whole thing out by not looking at the files?" He asked.

"I already looked at them. If I look any more my mind will start creating ridiculous outcomes. From what I remember by reading them once is enough for me."

"You remind me so much of Sherlock."

(F/N) groaned. "Please don't compare me with that odd fellow. True, he is smart, but he does go about things somewhat drastically."

John laughed. "You can say that again…"

She smirked, then went on exploring her thoughts pertaining to the murders. She knew it was the same person. It had to be. It was too coincidental that all of these victims were married woman. If the killer was a woman, she might have the reason that she is jealous of all of these young and married women; never being able to find love herself. But on the other hand, if it was a man, he might also be jealous, because all of the women that other men had found to love themselves, he felt like everyone of them should suffer like him. Maybe (F/N) was delving too deep into things. Both of those ideas sounded ridiculous. Everything seemed to fit, but they had no idea where to being to find the name of the murderer. "John, where did Sherlock go again?" (F/N) asked out of the blue.

"City hall. Why?"

"Hm. Where would one go to find out the family and friends of a murder victim?"

The doctor was silent for a moment. "I suppose down to Scotland Yard." He answered.

(F/N) sprung to her feet, grabbed her coat, and ran out the door. John chuckled at the sight. "It's like having a female Sherlock around." He pointed out.

(F/N) on the other hand had quickly gotten a taxi out to Scotland Yard. She asked where Sherlock was just so she wouldn't run into him. Seeing him now would cause her to lose some of the valuable notions that she had come up with. Just thinking about him made her train of thought go all screwy. (F/N) shook her head to rid herself of the thought, while the taxi soon pulled up to the front of Scotland Yard. She paid the man, and walked inside up to the front desk. The clerk was there waiting. "Hello. May I help you?" The woman behind the desk said.

"Yes, is Lestrade in?"

The woman clicked something on the computer. ((F/N) decided not to go into the details of her personal life, for that would just make the situation dull.) "Yes, I do believe so. He should be in his office. Down the hall, to the left, and the second door to your right."

"Thank you." And with that, (F/N) was off to see Lestrade.

Two minutes later, she walked in on Lestrade talking to an unknown woman. The woman was dark skinned, tall, very curly hair. Make-up rushed on, had a late morning. (F/N) didn't delve any deeper however. Women like their space and secrets. The woman seemed like she was mad. She was talking on and on about a subject that didn't interest (F/N) whatsoever, so she blocked it out of her thoughts, and just waited for their conversation to be over. They hadn't even noticed (F/N) walk through the doors though. She closed the door, and leaned against the wall. The sound alarmed both people currently in the room, and they both turned to look. "Miss (L/N). I didn't know you were coming up." Lestrade pointed out.

"I'm sorry for the short notice, but I found something that might be of use. I had to come immediately on two reasons. One; I could loose the thought, and two; I made sure that Sherlock wasn't here."

Lestrade scoffed. "Good. Oh, ah, I suppose you two haven't met. Miss (L/N), this is sergeant Donovan. Donovan, this is (Y/N). She's working with Sherlock on the charred murder case." He informed the two.

"You're working with Sherlock?" Donovan sneered. "I doubt it. If I had to guess you're just a pawn in his little game." She said, taking a step forward to (F/N).

"No. I'm not working for him. If I had to work with that idiot, I'd most likely go mad."

"If you're not working for him, then what do you do?"

"I could point out everything you've done from last night to this morning but I won't bore you with the details. I'm not as straightforward as the idiot. I like to keep silent what I know people don't want to hear."

"Hm. So another Sherlock then. This is gonna be fun…" Donovan said sarcastically, then went to the door. "We'll talk more later Lestrade. I'll give you time with the second Sherlock here."

And with that, she was gone. (F/N) turned back to Lestrade as he sat down in his chair behind his desk. "So what is it that you wanted to tell me?" He asked, grabbing some papers off his desk.

"Those six other cases that you sent files to Baker St. I was looking over them and I came across something. All of the victims were female."

"We know that."

"And were happily married with no hitches in their relationships."

Lestrade paused, and stared up at (F/N). She noticed that he had almost dropped the papers he was holding. Once he regained his composure, he tapped the edges of the papers onto the table, straightening them out. He also cleared his throat before he spoke. "So…you think that these murders are somehow connected?"

(F/N) nodded. "Yes. Although I believe the idiot has already known that for a while now. He just neglected to tell you." She informed him.

Lestrade set his papers down, and shook his head. "I guess…that's sort of a relief then. This way we don't have seven different killers to catch, only one."

"However, he is a smart one."

He nodded. "True. Thank you for stopping by. We'll take this information into account. Is there anything else that you need while you're here?"

(F/N) thought for a moment. "Actually yes. I would like to see the keys and the pen that we found on the latest victim's body. If you don't mind." She asked.

Lestrade stood and led (F/N) out the door and down the hallway. They came up to another room at the end and Lestrade walked through. (F/N) waited outside, and a couple minutes later, he came back with two plastic bags in hand. One containing the keys, and the other, the pen. They were simple objects, but they could be used to find out more about the victim and what she did for a living. Maybe something that she did at her workplace caused a possible co-worker to lash out. Nothing was set in stone just yet though. "Thank you. I'll have these returned as soon as I can." (F/N) assured him.

Lestrade nodded in agreement. "Keep them as long as you need. Just make sure that Sherlock doesn't steal them."

(F/N) smirked. "Thank you again. I'll keep that in mind. I'll be leaving now then. Goodbye." She turned on her heel and walked back out the way she came.


	4. A Lead

(F/N) took another taxi on her way back to her flat. It was located at 173A Winchester Rd. The others would be expecting her back sometime; she did leave without much notice, and she had to thank John and, regrettably, Sherlock for having her over. Before then, however, she would spend a few minutes looking at the two pieces of evidence. (F/N) went to the door and unlocked it, walking inside and closing the door behind her. The flat was very basic, but cluttered with all of her random things. With the way (F/N) acted people would expect her to be well-organized, but in truth, she was the exact opposite. She had a system to the mess however. Everything was spread out where she could see it. (This made it easier for finding things quickly) Her kitten; Tenshii; jumped up into her lap as she sat down. Clearing off a spot on her desk, (F/N) grabbed the keys and pen from their bags and set them beside each other. She started with the keys.

There were 3 keys on the keyring. One most likely for her flat or house; another for her vehicle (from the design (F/N) drew the conclusion that it was a 2011 Bentley. A nicer car than one would normally see on the common street) and the last one had an unknown purpose. A safe perhaps? No, it was too big for that. A vault of some kind? Possibly job related?

(F/N) let that sink in as she turned to the pen. The little black and white kitten played with the shiny keys. She laughed and turned back to the other object at hand. It was a expensive looking pen. There were letters engraved on the side of the casing. E-M-I-S. A company name? She pulled out he laptop and clicked the internet icon, then typed in the same letters. The first result was a government agency. 'England Murder Investigative Services.' The mysterious vault key was sounding like a good assumption. (F/N) closed her laptop with a snap, then headed to the door. Tenshii wandered into the other room as she rose to her feet. Before leaving however, she put her hair in a bun, holding it together with a pair of chopsticks she received from her grandmother. (F/N) walked back outside. She realized that John and Sherlock lived only a couple of blocks away. A five minute walk. She sighed and went on her way. Not soon after, she found herself back at 221B Baker St once again, but this time ringing the bell. John's voice came over the speaker. "Hello?" He asked, his voice fuzzy.

"Hi, it's me again. May I come back in? I found something that might be of use."

"Of course. Come right up."

The door clicked open and (F/N) walked in. She quickly ascended the stairs and walked into the flat. As soon as she entered however, hands grabbed her shoulders and spun her around slowly. It was Sherlock. "Her name was Jessica Holland." He said out of the blue.

"The victim, I presume. Now that we cleared that up, can you let me go now?"

Sherlock released his grasp immediately and darted off to do something else. (F/N) rolled her eyes. "Anywho, I thought you would be happy to know that I looked at some of the other evidence when I visited Lestrade."

"You went to see Lestrade?" Sherlock questioned. "John, you didn't tell me."

"You didn't ask." He said simply.

(F/N) sighed. "Yes. Didn't you notice that I had left?"

"No, it wasn't that important."

"What if I was killed by the murderer on my way? Would I be important then?"

"You wouldn't be killed! You're not married!

"The killer might no know that! For what your reputation says, you're surely not living up to it right now!"

Sherlock huffed, and was at a loss for words. He stomped off to the other room. (F/N) turned back to John and sat it the nearby chair. He was staring at her with an obviously flabbergasted expression. She glared back at him intensely. "What?" She snapped.

"I-I've never seen anyone talk to him like that before."

"He should learn to take everything into consideration." (F/N) said sternly. "Now then, back to the subject that I originally came here to talk about. When I was looking the evidence over, on the key ring was an unknown key, and the pen was from the 'England Murder Investigative services. E.M.I.S. I believe the victim worked there and the key went to something at her job."

John held up a finger. "Wait, so you're saying that something at EMIS might have caused all of this?"

"Well, no, not exactly, what I'm saying is that there is a slim chance that something there might give us clue as to who killed her."

(F/N) knew that Sherlock had heard everything. She held up three fingers and counted down. Hitting zero, the man in question rushed out of the other room. He was already putting on his scarf and jacket. "Come along John. We're heading off to the EMIS headquarters. You too (F/N)"

"Me? Why me?"

Sherlock stopped and turned to her; his face only inches from hers. "You're the one that has the key." He said softly.

"Not with me. It's at my flat."

"Which is…?"

"173 Winchester Road."

"Good. It's not far. We'll walk there, then get a cab." He finished quickly, then walked out the door. (F/N) had John followed suit.


End file.
